


An Appropriate Friend

by schematise



Series: Wranduin Week 2020 [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Anduin Wrynn Deserves Better, Awkward Romance, M/M, Patch 8.3: Visions of N'Zoth, Post-8.3, World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth, Wranduin Week 2020, Wrathion tries so no-one can criticise him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:07:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28219689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schematise/pseuds/schematise
Summary: "Wrathion," he begins, and the relief is somewhat evident in his voice. "How did you find me?""You do know I'm a dragon, yes? Also, Shaw is stood outside this door looking pensive."
Relationships: Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn
Series: Wranduin Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1915234
Comments: 6
Kudos: 81





	An Appropriate Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Arranged Marriage. You may be thinking, but Wranduin week was months ago? I tell you, time is an illusion! 
> 
> Thank you to Pink for beta reading my Alliance content again, despite being lifelong Horde, and Teresa for suffering my em-dashes.

It's hot enough to be suffocating, and Anduin wishes he were anywhere else.

The whole house is packed wall to wall with nobles, and even if it weren't already too warm outside the combined body heat is making the experience intolerable. He can barely take two steps without finding someone nearly on top of him. This is, he's assured, a fashionable party with lots of important people. Genn had suggested, several times in increasingly insistent tones, that it would be good for him to make _appropriate_ friends.

Instead, he's distracted by what he's certain is the distant sound of Wrathion's laughter.

He supposes he's glad one of them is having a good time, but the prospect of fighting his way through the busy room to find him appears nigh on impossible. No doubt Wrathion is on the list of _inappropriate_ friends too. Anduin can't help but wonder who invited him, and if he was invited for the novelty of it rather than for a kinder reason. Perhaps even simply for the scandal, and the prospect of all the _conversation_ such a thing might generate. The thought frustrates him further, and he tries to press down on it as he takes in another rotation of the room. A lady with a neatly wound braid is leaned in towards a man with waves of red hair as he passes. _Of course, they haven't at all been the same since the last campaign_ , she's saying, and he's tempted to linger and listen. Tempted until the eyes of the young lady twitch over to find him, her expression changing immediately from a sharp frown into a warm smile.

"Your Majesty," she says, and dips her head in recognition. "We were just discussing Zandalar."

All at once, Anduin is too tired for this. Even here, where people are meant to be enjoying themselves, the shadow of everything that has happened -- everything that is _still_ happening -- manages to find him. Dark rangers, blood trolls, the countless lives lost. 

"Of course," he says, then: "will you excuse me?"

He doesn't wait for an answer. 

Anduin weaves his way through the crowds, stomach clenching, and turns his way up the winding stairwell of the country house. He spots, down the hall, what looks like a small study and throws himself in. The door shuts behind him and he tries to breathe past the nausea, to slow the race of his heart. The dimmer light here is soothing, and the quiet goes some way to easing his nerves. The lack of eyes on him, the peaceful momentary solitude. He crosses to the window, opens it a crack to let in some air and surveys the room. A small bookcase stands in one corner, so he picks something (a collection of Kul Tiran history, apparently) and drops into a chair to read.

He's only a few chapters in when the door cracks open.

Anduin looks up, trying to keep the frown of irritation from his face, and is instead surprised by a pair of warmly glowing red eyes meeting his.

"Wrathion," he begins, and the relief is somewhat evident in his voice. "How did you find me?"

"You do know I'm a dragon, yes? Also, Shaw is stood outside this door looking pensive."

Of course. Anduin sighs heavily, shuts the book he'd had open and sets the Kul Tiran history aside.

"Are you here to drag me back out?"

"Not at all, I'm here to escape as well."

Something eases in Anduin, a weight lifting off his chest. His eyes follow Wrathion as he moves closer and leans up against the desk beside him, running over the lines of his limbs as the dragon reaches to pick up his book and flip through. Long, elegant fingers turn the pages thoughtfully, but Anduin can't guess if he's reading at all.

"You weren't enjoying yourself? You sounded as if you were."

Wrathion shoots him a curious look and Anduin immediately realises that was too revealing, flushing as he darts his eyes away.

"I was not," he says, politely not drawing attention to Anduin's slip. "I have the sense I'm a curious source of entertainment. The... indelicate questions test my patience."

"I was afraid of that."

Anduin drops his eyes, a stab of shame twisting through him at Wrathion being treated this way. He should be doing more to discourage it, to see him respected properly. The book slides back into his vision and he takes it, lifting his eyes to Wrathion once more. The dragon's gaze is steady, one eyebrow raised in a silent question. 

"That isn't why you're hiding," he points out.

It isn't. Anduin drops his eyes, begins to absently leaf through the book again. 

"Genn wants me to make more... appropriate friends," he says finally. "He wants me to find a wife, start a family. To continue the Wrynn line. I don't know how anyone can think about that sort of thing while Azeroth is plagued by so much... _turmoil_ , but he's been very insistent."

There's a lengthy pause, long enough that Anduin looks up again from his book. Wrathion is watching him still.

"I think you should consider it."

Consider it?

Anduin takes a deep, steadying breath and holds it a moment. Of course Wrathion would say that. Of course Wrathion would look at this situation dispassionately, weigh up the pros and cons and come to this decision. It's just unfortunate it isn't the answer Anduin wanted, isn't the answer he'd hoped to hear from the dragon in particular.

"I have time," Anduin protests, "to think about marriage later. I'm still young, Wrathion, and I'd prefer to have someone I care about -- not... not something done out of convenience."

Wrathion's red eyes study him, piercing. Thoughtful.

"An alliance with another noble house would strengthen your position," he points out. "Support would be good for you."

Anduin does, after all, have plenty who disagree with him. Support would not only provide a buffer, socially and politically, it might help him personally. Help him to remain more at ease under the endless criticism. Help him to have someone who can make appropriate public appearances with him and, equally, take some pressure off. Ease his stress.

The king's expression tells Wrathion he doesn't agree.

"And what of your support?"

Wrathion isn't expecting that. Anduin watches his eyes widen, as if caught off guard, watches him fumble for something to say. He's normally so collected, so in control that the moments where he falls apart feel all the more revealing. Wrathion, in the face of gentle blue-eyed scrutiny, would rather nothing about his reaction was revealing at all. Of course he supports Anduin! Their positions are -- different, however. Aren't they? Anduin could never -- especially not publicly! He flusters, then quickly tries to collect himself. To smooth over the ruffled feeling, the way his skin prickled at the potential in the question.

_And what of your support?_

"The Black Dragonflight will always give aid to those who protect Azeroth, as I know you always will."

It sounds good, Wrathion thinks. A good recovery. Only Anduin looks... disappointed. His eyes flit away, scanning over the book again, and Wrathion swallows as he tries to puzzle this out. He's missed something, clearly, some behavioural clue. It happens, sometimes, even if he'd prefer not to admit that. Mortals can be so fickle, so strange. His eyes follow the way Anduin's fingers trace over the pages, distracted, and he tries to back up through the conversation. Anduin doesn't want to just make a political alliance, he wants someone he cares about. Does he think Wrathion is dismissing his concerns? Does he feel used again? Perhaps he worries he is being played in a complex game once more, that Wrathion intends to set up alliances for him and not explain. Well, he could at least assure him that is not the case. That may help --

Anduin's hand slides over one of Wrathion's, where he steadies himself on the edge of the desk, and the dragon's thoughts turn to white noise.

"Wrathion," he hears distantly, "I... forgive me if I have misunderstood, but I had hoped..."

Their hands are touching, and Wrathion has a wild urge to snatch his own away from under it. As if the contact might burn him.

Has he misunderstood?

He thinks of holding Anduin in his arms as the stress and exhaustion tipped him over into tears, thinks of Anduin saying _don't do this_.

The contextual clues were, perhaps, always there. Wrathion had been aware of them, yet there is a difference between being aware of a potential and being faced with reality. It had been a tease before, a warm heat that surely could never come to fruition. Wrathion knows his place, his own reputation, and the risks to Anduin's position. All the reasons why it shouldn't happen.

Yet the hand over his is warm, and Wrathion is filled with a horribly irrational stab of hope he might yet be wrong.

He stares down at the hand, then back up warily into blue eyes framed by a frown.

His mouth is dry. It isn't, but it feels dry. He thinks his heart rate is picking up. He isn't frightened, but for some reason it's racing away anyway.

"Ah," he manages. That isn't a helpful response. "Well," he carries on, trying to drag himself back to some semblance of control, "of course, there is no nobler connection you could aspire to."

Anduin's furrowed brow does something, twitches upward in surprise -- lips pressing together. He drops his eyes, shoulders hunching over, and shakes silently.

Has he... done something wrong?

"That is to say..." Wrathion begins, "I..."

Blue eyes flick up, and he trails off. Anduin isn't upset at all, he's laughing at him! 

Why?

"I really don't see what's so funny," he complains, and Anduin's laughter finds a voice -- if still muted.

"I don't think Genn would consider you a _nobler connection_."

"Well it's a good thing he isn't High King of the Alliance, isn't it? Surely you don't need his permission!"

Anduin falters, expression turning into something softer -- more subdued.

"Then you would accept?"

There it is again. The irrational stab of hope. Wrathion imagines himself proudly walking by Anduin's side, watching him learn and grow. Supporting him through hardships. It's something he wants, and yet --

 _Yet_.

Both of them know the path would be rocky.

"Anduin," he begins to protest softly.

"Don't. Don't tell me no unless you mean it, Wrathion. Unless you don't want this. I'll accept that. If it's too much for you, if -- if this means more to me than it does to you I'll accept that. Just don't say no for my sake. Not out of some desire to protect me from the consequences. I'm not a child, I understand perfectly well how cruel people can be."

Wrathion turns the thought over. He doesn't much care, himself, what people say about him. It's exhausting, sometimes, but nothing new. Earning his place has been an uphill battle since he first drew breath, and no doubt will continue to be so. The scars the Black Dragonflight left on this world still heal, and until Neltharion was a much more distant memory he could little expect easy forgiveness.

Aside from, it seems, from Anduin. 

A jealous, possessive part of him is desperate to say yes. To hold Anduin to his chest, to keep him from anyone else. Anduin would never truly _be_ his, however, not completely. Some part of him would always belong to his people. Some part of him would be forever bound in duty. 

"If that's your choice then," Wrathion says, and Anduin narrows his eyes in response. Sets aside the book in his hand and pushes to his feet. Wrathion's breath catches, and he resists the urge to lean back as he's crowded against the desk.

"I'm not making a choice for you," he protests, "I'm asking you, Wrathion, what you want from this. Don't toy with me, please. Don't make this a game. I'm tired of games. If you're going to be here, be here."

_Don't make this a game._

Wrathion reels for a moment, trying to process the request. Has he made it a game? Perhaps he has. He could think of a thousand excuses why, but all of them fall flat in the face of Anduin's concerned frown. It feels -- too fast. Do things normally progress this fast? Surely Anduin has -- has so many more things to consider! Surely there should be some sort of... courtship, some process? Something more than cornering him, against the small desk in this study and telling him to make a choice.

"Ah," he manages weakly. "I..." 

He can't think of the right thing to say. Why can't he think of the right thing to say? He's always been clever with his words! Surely he shouldn't be -- reduced to some hopeless incoherent state by a mere human! By proximity. Anduin's hand untangles from his, and he takes a slow step back. 

"You can say no," he offers, and Wrathion's heart lurches. He doesn't want to say no! He wants to say yes! It's just -- 

"Are you... certain? This would be a difficult path for you." 

Anduin studies him for a long moment, and Wrathion has the overpowering urge to look away. The blue eyes pinning him study him in fine detail, reading him to his core. 

"It would," he accepts finally. "But I'd rather take a chance. Wouldn't you?" 

Wrathion tears his eyes away finally, swallows down nerves as he tightens his grip on the desk. 

"Well," he manages finally, "I suppose I wouldn't want to force the High King of the Alliance to settle for a lower class match." 

He swallows awkwardly, lets his eyes slide back up to meet Anduin's again. He's got that hopeful gaze again, the one that makes Wrathion's chest ache strangely. Pale fingers reach up and his body goes tense, watching nervously as dark curls are slid back away from his face. 

His heart is racing again. He doesn't know why, he isn't frightened, but it's the same anxious sensation he gets when launching himself off a very high place before the wind catches his wings. The fingers slide down to rest against his neck and Wrathion's skin prickles, a shiver running over his skin and down his spine. 

"Ah," he manages again. Anduin is still smiling. He finds himself hypnotised, unable to move at all. His heart is beating so hard he's certain it might escape his chest. 

He watches Anduin lean forward and up, feels the heat of his body closing in before their lips brush together. The ringing in his ears explodes again, his thoughts reduce to nothing and he stands awkwardly frozen. Should he be doing something? What should he be doing? He shouldn't just be standing here! He fumbles his free hand to slide around Anduin's waist, to hold him close, and heat rolls through his body. Their bodies press together, and Wrathion becomes conscious of the hammering of his own heart -- of the nervous tension in the young king's limbs. 

The kiss breaks awkwardly and they stare at each other, breathing hard. 

Anduin begins to shake again, silent laughter sending quakes through his body. 

"You seem easily amused today," Wrathion grouses, a frown pulling at his features. It vanishes when Anduin lifts a hand to cup his cheek again. 

"I'm happy," Anduin says, and he can hardly complain in the face of that. Wrathion swallows down his discontent, reaches out fingers to slowly stroke over Anduin's cheek. 

"Then I am too," he says, and he can only hope they stay that way.


End file.
